


As Prisoned Birds

by Lavosse



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: A sort of origin story for Patron-Minette, Crime and Shenanigans, Nb Claquesous, Other, Trans Montparnasse, mentions of Eponine - Freeform, poetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavosse/pseuds/Lavosse
Summary: Babet has a terrible idea, and Gueulemer is against it, until he isn't; aka, the modern au that was supposed to be a hacker au, but took on a life of its own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I'm naming a Claquemer fic after a line from [Everyone Sang by Siegfried Sassoon](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/57253). *shrug*
> 
> Dedicated to the lovely Marius, my co-captain <3

It was well after sunset when Gueulemer slunk into headquarters, opening the door to the sound of boisterous laughter. Headquarters may have been a filthy den of thieves, but as warm light and the savory scent of pizza spilled out into the chilly hallway, Gueulemer was reminded that thieves, really, were not such bad company.

We shall pause here for a moment to briefly expound upon the names of our characters.

In the day and age of which we write, our subjects had names appropriate to their backgrounds. Our man Gueulemer, for instance, was one Gabriel Beringer, but as it has come to our attention that our readers are more familiar with our subjects’ French context, we shall defer to our readers and use the period nomenclature. Our one exception shall be Patron-Minette, which our subjects often call _La Madrugada._ ‘Madrugada’ is the Spanish word for ‘dawn’ or the time between midnight and sunrise. Some things do not change with the times.

Gueulemer did not hesitate in entering; he shut and locked the door behind him. He heard only Babet’s laughter, but that meant nothing; Montparnasse was a quiet creature, and there was no doubt he’d be here. Although they each, technically, had their own places to live, Babet, Gueulemer, and Montparnasse lived practically on top of each other. “Hey y’all,” he called, “I brought those little chocolate things Mont likes.”

“You’re the fucking best, ‘Mer,” Parnasse called back.

Gueulemer set the box of brownie bites on the counter before venturing further into the apartment.

The apartment was very small; the main room had only one window, often shrouded by the heavy curtains Montparnasse had bought during his décor phase, and so it was dimly lit even during the day. The little light there was reflected off the shiny laminate floor, which supported an assortment of chairs and little tables found in (and stolen from) various locations.

Babet and Montparnasse were perched on tall wooden stools behind Babet’s trashy old laptop, their faces slightly illuminated. Babet was hunched over his keyboard, pointy chin resting on one scrawny fist. He stared at the computer screen with calm amusement, which strongly resembled adoration. Montparnasse was stifling giggles. He looked a bit like the devil, Gueulemer thought, with his dark painted lips and leather jacket, laughing gleefully like he knew something you didn’t.

“’Mer!” Babet cried, straightening up. “Come look at this shit. Oh my gosh. This is the fucking highlight of my year.”

Reluctantly, Gueulemer dropped his bag on the ground and stomped over to hover behind Babet.

“Don’t be so loud,” Babet mumbled, for the seventh time that month.

“Sorry, boss,” Gueulemer replied contritely, also for the seventh time.

Babet sighed with the air of an exhausted elementary school teacher. “Anyway, look at this email. This dude—” he gestured to the screen “—thinks he can blackmail me!”

Gueulemer snorted. “Why bother?”

Babet shrugged. “He’s got old info. Thinks I’m still married and pretending to be a science teacher.”

Montparnasse stopped resisting his giggles and fell into full-fledged helpless laughter.

“You _are_ still married, boss,” Gueulemer pointed out, unhelpfully.

Babet had married one Elizabeth Rodriguez ten or so years ago; they’d had three kids, one after the other, and lived happy lives for five years. On their five-year anniversary, they’d gone out for dinner, and broken up with easy amiability. The conversation had gone something like:

“I have something to tell you.” This from Elizabeth, speaking plainly and looking Babet in the eye.

“I have something to say too,” Babet, then called Anthony, had said. He was holding her hand across the table. “You can go first.”

“I’m leaving you,” said Elizabeth.

“Not if I leave first,” Babet replied.

Silence; then laughter.

“Do you want a divorce?”

“Nah,” said Elizabeth. “When you go down, I want to legally acquire all your illegally acquired shit.”

“Hah! That’s my girl.”

Babet had packed his bags the next day and been out by the end of the week; by the time two months were up, he was embroiled in crime and Elizabeth’s new girlfriend had seamlessly slipped in where he’d once been.

But enough talk of backstories, though we cannot promise not to reveal more later.

“Sorry, boss,” Gueulemer said. “What’s he accusing you of?” He wandered over to the stove and peeled a slice of pizza away from its whole.

Babet peered at the screen. “Cheating on Lizzy and not having any qualifications to teach science.”

“Both of which are true,” Montparnasse pointed out. “He seems to have reckoned on you having something to lose.”

Babet, raising an eyebrow, asked, “’Reckoned’?”

Montparnasse sighed. “Éponine says it all the time.”

“He’s _good_ , though,” Babet said, and Gueulemer looked up in surprise. “He found the errors in my fake creds. He fucking _hacked_ my old bank account.”

Babet was using his ‘I am thinking out loud, don’t bother replying’ voice, so Gueulemer just stuffed the slice of pizza in his mouth and grabbed another one, waiting. He hadn’t eaten since the night before.

“His style is impeccable. Very businesslike. He obviously has a good journalist’s nose. I want him.”

Montparnasse nearly dropped his phone. Gueulemer shook his head. “It’s too risky,” they both said, in something like unison.

Babet turned. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

And that was that. Babet had never been wrong before, not about picking up a new associate.

(When he’d picked up Gueulemer, Mer had been a mess of a human being, with no steady place to live, making a living off a struggling trade in other people’s wallets.)

“He’s left me a phone number. It’s local,” Babet said. The smile in his voice was wicked and sharper than razors. “I’m going to call him.”

Gueulemer gave in and grabbed the entire pizza box, beckoning Montparnasse over to the couch.

Parnasse sat down and took a slice of pizza, pulling his phone back out.

“What’s up with Éponine?”

“I’m gonna leave to go get her in an hour or so,” Parnasse said. He sat up straight, and swallowed his mouthful of pizza before speaking. “She got as far as Virginia before her money ran out.”

In the kitchen, Babet was saying, “Yes, this is Anthony Babineaux. I’d like to speak with you about the offer you made me earlier today.”

He came into the TV area, which did not actually have a television. The couch and overstuffed armchairs were all facing a piece of cabinetry that _suggested_ a television, but had nothing beyond a few dangling wires to back its suggestion. Settling into a floofy green armchair, he clicked the phone into speaker mode and set it on the coffee table.

“I take cash,” the person on the other end said flatly. Montparnasse shook his head, mouthing “idiot.”

“I appreciate the information,” Babet said calmly, “but I’m not calling to accept.”

The phone made something like the verbal version of a shrug. “It’s your life you’re ruining.”

“No, you misunderstand. You appear to have old information.”

“Hm.”

“Around here most everybody calls me Babet,” Babet said. His voice was amicable.

The silence on the other end was tremulous. “Babet like _la Madrugada_?”

“The same.”

“Oh. Well, I, um—”

Babet laughed. “Luckily for you, I’m not too angry. In fact, I’m impressed. You seem talented, and I’d like to know if you’re open to employment opportunities.”

There was a considerate silence, followed by, “Oh. You want to hire me?”

“Exactly.”

As Babet wrapped up the conversation, giving the other man an address and a time while the other man stuttered and just barely held it together, Parnasse retrieved the container of brownie bites and ate one delicately. “You mind if I take these to get Éponine with me?”

Gueulemer took two and ate them both whole, one after the other. Parnasse looked away in disdain. “No prob,” he said, muffled, mouth full.

Babet hung up the phone. “We’re meeting him at seven.”

“You’re crazy, boss!” Gueulemer complained, looking to Montparnasse for support.

Montparnasse did his best to look neutral, saying, “Gil already has enough on his hands while I’m gone.”

He referred, of course, to Babet’s latest plan: to sell stolen goods to vendors in Chinatown. The plan as it stood had been designed for the two of them; Montparnasse’s nimble fingers and Gueulemer’s strength were taken into account.

“You’re both idiots!” Babet declared, standing up abruptly. “Don’t you see? If we have somebody who’ll work with computers, we can get into way nicer stores. We could take out security systems _before_ we even get there.”

Babet was competent with computer systems, but not what anyone, even himself, would call _good._

Gueulemer was still only processing the words when Montparnasse gasped.

“We could rob Saks Fifth,” he said, eyes full of a strange jaded wonder.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

“You have no right to call _me_ an idiot,” Gueulemer grumbled, arms folded moodily, as Babet fumbled with his set of lock picks.

Babet just huffed at him.

They were crouched in an alley at a side entrance to the warehouse at which they were meeting Babet’s blackmailer. The warehouse was the place of choice for several reasons; it was safe, for one, infrequently used and far away from their little flat. The other reason was that Babet had a ring of keys for all the doors that he’d snitched from one of the night watchmen, back when the company that owned the warehouse had bothered with watchmen. This would have made the place ideal for the meeting.

That is, if only Babet had not forgotten the keys.

Babet swore at the lock, and Gueulemer sighed.

Suddenly a noise echoed from behind him. Gueulemer spun around, caught sight of a man’s form, shrouded in darkness, and launched himself at it. The man grabbed Gueulemer’s wrist and preformed a little twist that sent Gueulemer crashing to the ground in a split second.

In the meantime, Babet had gotten the door unlocked.

“You Babet?” The man asked, and followed Babet inside while Gueulemer lay, stunned, on the ground.

By the time he’d roused himself and peeled himself off the ground, Babet had already begun interviewing the man. Gueulemer took his place next to Babet silently, glaring at the man. “You Claquesous, then?”

“I don’t have a name,” Claquesous said, “but they call me that.”

Gueulemer snorted and let Babet continue, but didn’t really pay attention.

Claquesous was pale-skinned, as far as Gueulemer could see; they hid half their face behind a cheap masquerade mask. Gray eyes peered out from behind it, active, darting back and forth between Gueulemer and Babet. A few strands of very light blonde hair escaped the hoodie they wore. Their lips were pink and bowed, and moved precisely when they spoke. Distracting; utterly detestable.

“Whaddayou think?” Babet asked, breaking Gueulemer’s silent evaluation.

“Can I have a word?” Gueulemer replied, to buy himself time and hide the fact that he hadn’t been listening.

They crossed to the opposite corner of the warehouse; the metal walls echoed their steps like a finality.

“I don’t like ‘im,” Gueulemer said immediately.

“Why?”

“I’m not gettin’ a good vibe off this guy, boss. He’s bad news.”

Babet’s resolve began to weaken. He set his clipboard on the ground. Gueulemer could see that it read “Pros: Strong, Very Strong??, Cool Under Pressure, Handsome” which confirmed his theory that Babet only carried the clipboard because it made him look organized.

“If you really don’t like him, I won’t hire him,” he said seriously.

“I’ll work for room and board,” came Claquesous’s voice, from directly behind him. Babet jumped.

Gueulemer groaned. Once the situation was in Babet’s financial interest there could be no dissuading him.

“That’s it?”

“And my share of loot, obviously,” Claquesous amended, pretty mouth curving into a smile.

(Gueulemer shook the word _pretty_ out of his head adamantly.)

Claquesous continued, “I go by they, by the way.” No _if you don’t mind_ followed, which was something Gueulemer could appreciate in a person.

Babet looked taken aback, but didn’t protest. Gueulemer knew this meant Babet had no idea what was going on, and would probably call Montparnasse and demand an explanation.

(Babet often went to Montparnasse before Google, which annoyed everyone else no end.)

“You’re hired,” Babet said, and that was that.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Gueulemer was exhausted, and really, really not okay with this.

Montparnasse was nearly two days late, stuck in an insane situation of his own making. He’d spent the last hour talking Gueulemer’s ear off, and had only stopped because he’d fallen asleep. Apparently, he’d almost hit a hitchhiker on the drive from Roanoke, and Éponine had decided, on what grounds Gueulemer couldn’t fathom, that the best way forward was to kidnap the poor kid.

On top of this and not getting much sleep, Babet was now insisting yet again on having his way.

“It’s just a little trip!” he insisted. Claquesous stood behind him, trying to look anywhere but at Gueulemer.

“It’s not!” Gueulemer protested. “I dunno the dirt!”

“That’s alright, I’ve briefed Claquesous,” Babet said sweetly. “All you have to do is stand there and look menacing.”

Gueulemer saw red.

This kid, this _fucking newbie_ , expected to take over _his job_.

Babet had no idea how close a near-death experience he’d had that day.

“Now hurry up and get out of here. I want you back to greet Éponine.”

Gueulemer left in a storm of anger, not bothering to look behind and see if Claquesous was following him.

“Is he always like that?” Claquesous asked, as they hurried down the stairs. Their voice was low and quiet.

“Completely insane? Yeah. Worse.”

“Worse?”

“Coupla years ago he set up shop as a government-paid dentist usin’ money he’d stolen off a cop.”

Claquesous made a choking noise.

“Before I knew ‘im, he faked bein’ a science teacher and passed for four years.”

Claquesous made the same noise, a startled exhalation, and Gueulemer realized suddenly that it was a laugh.

Conversation lapsed and was replaced by street noise. Gueulemer cursed himself for being so companionable to someone he’d decided to hate. They jumped the subway turnstiles and made a break for their train, darting through just as the doors began to close.

The only other people in the car were an old lady and a college-age boy with headphones on. The relative quiet of the clack and squeal of the train was unnerving.

“Do you wanna do the talking? I’ll fill you in,” Claquesous offered cautiously. Gueulemer realized that this was the sort of thing they meant when they said somebody ‘held out an olive branch’.

“Thanks,” he said. He did not say “sorry” or “welcome to the family” or “maybe I was wrong about you”, but those were the things he meant.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

The meeting went well, if not perfectly. Claquesous did an excellent job backing up Gueulemer just by being their mysterious masked self. It was the next meeting, a week later, the collection, that didn’t go so well.

It was a last-minute arrangement, and in an area of town Gueulemer didn’t know well, which set alarms off in Gueulemer’s head immediately.

It was a bloodbath.

The cronies ambushed him and Claquesous, and suddenly, just as Gueulemer was wondering if he’d make it out of this, Claquesous vanished.

For one terrifying second, Gueulemer had been convinced that this was it, he’d been right all along and Claquesous had finally found the opportunity to betray him. Later, he would distinctly remember thinking, _dammit, I liked this one._

And then Claquesous had thrown two of the henchmen from behind, creating an escape route for Gueulemer, snatched the money and they’d been running, running, and the September air was brisk and Gueulemer—

Gueulemer would have so many ‘I told you so’s to deal with from Babet because Claquesous was the best working partner he’d ever had and the only one he ever wanted. Even Montparnasse, capable as he was, wouldn’t have been so on-time, or even stuck around to get Gueulemer out of there.

They both hesitated when they got back to HQ, neither willing to go in, so Gueulemer beckoned and lead Claquesous to the stairway up to the roof.

They sat on the roof and looked out at the city. Claquesous lowered their hoodie and smiled into the wind, and Gueulemer thought that maybe new blood wouldn’t be so bad after all.

He thought that maybe, this could be the start of something great.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you had at least as much fun reading it!  
> There may be more upcoming, but I promise nothing. (You know that person Eponine kidnapped? That was possibly Jehan.)  
> Please do comment. Comments are like vitamins; I could probably live without them, but. It's better not to find out, yes?


End file.
